


One shot, give me more - Two shots, let them roll

by brothebro



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Hangover, Heavy Drinking, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Multi, No beta we die like stregobor should have, Tattoos, a bit of Lambert, a jackalope and a doppler, a smidge of Vesemir, drunken petty thievery and a grand wine liberation sceme, good ending, hinted feral jaskier, portals everywhere, temporary memory loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25551115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro
Summary: Jaskier, Yennefer and Geralt wake up in a fancy room in Novigrad after a night of heavy partying and heavy drinking. The fun thing is, the aforementioned party took place in Toussaint the night before. Now if only they could remember what transpired after the first three bottles of wine...or: Jaskier, Yennefer and Geralt become utterly shitfaced, commit crimes and have to retrace their steps to remember what happened.or, or: Hangover au
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 19
Kudos: 79
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #005





	One shot, give me more - Two shots, let them roll

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy ♥️

Jaskier opens his eyes reluctantly, the bright rays of the sun that enter the big glass window of the room, shaking him awake. He regrets his decision almost immediately as needles prick through his brain and eyes, a sudden pang of nausea overcoming him. 

Ugh, this isn’t good. A headache this strong and this annoying can only mean one thing; he must have drunk his weight in ale last night. Fuck. 

He shifts uncomfortably under the thick woollen blanket, rubbing soothing circles on his temples with both hands when he feels the touch of another’s body. It’s warm and fuzzy against his skin and he tries really hard to remember who he wooed last night but his mind is blank. 

After quite a bit of struggle --his head refused vehemently to turn to the other side-- Jaskier comes face to face with a certain familiar face. 

Geralt of Rivia. 

Oh gods, Oh dear! Did they perhaps…? Jaskier’s thoughts are running wild and that only serves to make his headache worse. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and lifts the prickly woollen cover. 

He’s relieved to see that his pants are intact, belt buckle buckled and steady and all. Diving under the covers he notices Geralt is wearing all of his clothes as well -- shirt half- unbuttoned in its natural state and leather pants properly buttoned up. There, amongst their legs is even a properly dressed Yennefer, fancy black and purple gown and everything. And Jaskier’s even wearing his boots! 

Thank Melitele. 

Wait. 

Yennefer? 

The surprise has him jerking a leg, which forcefully hits Yennefer’s arm. 

“What the fuck?” She jolts awake, tosses the blanket in a fit of anger, only to groan and hold her head with both arms staring at the men occupying the rest of the bed. “What the fuck?” she repeats. 

Geralt grumbles something about blessed silence but makes no move to get up. 

“Jaskier,” Yennefer says, eyes full of fury, “Explain.”

“Yennefer,” he responds softly because even the sound of his own voice hurts his brain, “I’m as lost as you, I’m afraid.” 

“Geralt,” she calls tugging on the witcher’s arm who hums annoyed in response. “Geralt!”

“Shut up, my head in on fire.”

“No shit,” Jaskier snarks, “Where are we? And why are we here? Does anybody remember anything?”

“I remember fuck all,” Geralt grumbles trying and failing to get up. “Wait. I remember wine.”

“Very helpful,” Yennefer claps her hands slowly even though Jaskier can tell that each clap hurts her by the way she winces visibly. “We obviously had quite a lot of alcohol if the splitting headaches are any indication,” she notes and gets up to scour the unfamiliar room they woke up in. 

Jaskier watches with awe as she stands tall and trudges the room as if this was just another day. At one point she turns her back and reaches to grab something which reveals a… tattoo? Peeking beneath the deep cut of her dress? On her back? He can't quite make what it says from that distance, his vision still fuzzy from sleep but he makes out the word 'bard'.

What. 

"Yen-" he stammers out before being completely dumbfounded when the sorceress turns and he sees her holding a jackalope on her arms. A very unique, very rare, albino jackalope. Which he recognises. 

"Who are you, little guy?" Yennefer coos.

"Yen you have a tattoo on your back," Geralt says nonchalantly in a way only Geralt is able to. 

"Don't be silly," Yennefer scoffs. 

"No, he's telling the truth." Jaskier says, "and that's definitely my cousin's jackalope Fluffy you're holding," he pauses for a moment while a memory flashes briefly before his eyes. "Which, Geralt and I stole last night. From the banquet. In Toussaint. Fuck." 

Geralt thinks for a good while before nodding slowly. And Yennefer tries to see her tattoo on the grand mirror that hangs from the wall opposite the king-sized bed, her face morphing in disgust and muttering an almost silent 'what the fuck' under her breath. 

"The bard's and the witcher's witch," Geralt reads aloud, "classy."

"Well, that's the truth, alright," Jaskier jests and gets up to his feet, his vision blackening briefly and his thigh-burning with hot searing pain and he moves to the big window that illuminates the big room. "We're in Novigrad. Pray tell, how did we end up here from a banquet in a manor in Toussaint? And whyever the fuck does my leg hurt so much?"

"Portal," Geralt and Yennefer say in unison and then Yennefer adds, "drop your pants and let me see, bard."

He does as he's told because what's dignity anyways when you remember only bits and pieces from the night before and because Yennefer is, in fact, very much an excellent healer and he would like to not be in so much pain. 

Oh no. 

_ Oh no.  _

He has a tattoo on his thigh. A tattoo that spells the very flattering phrase: the witcher's and the witch's little bitch. 

_ Oh brilliant. _

"I sense a pattern here," he says crinkling his nose. "Geralt please undress" 

"No."

"Geralt," Yennefer presses, "we have to get to the bottom of this if we want to solve this mystery and you're not helping at all."

"Fine," he groans and removes his shirt first which does not reveal a tattoo to Jaskier's disappointment. "See, nothing."

"Pants too." 

"Alright _ , alright! _ " Geralt unbuttons his pants with a bit of struggle, huffing frustrated when his fingers miss their target. He’s the most hungover Jaskier has ever seen him and it would be amusing if he wasn’t in the same spot as the white-haired witcher. 

“Hmm… It seems our dearest witcher was spared the ridicu-” Jaskier starts saying but quickly stops himself when he peers part of a word just below Geralt’s right butt cheek. A laugh builds up in his throat and he’s unable to contain it, “It’s on your butt. Gods, it’s on your butt Geralt!” Jaskier laughs so hard his stomach is doing somersaults, its contents really close to liberating themselves if he doesn’t stop. 

So, he calms himself, however hard it is because, thank you very much, but he won’t retch in front of his secret crushes.  _ Inhale, exhale, repeat. _

“What does it say?” Geralt asks and Yennefer moves closer to inspect it, still holding Fluffy the jackalope. 

She snorts a laugh and Jaskier’s heart skips a beat because he’s never heard the sorceress so genuinely amused.  _ Her laugh is so lovely.  _

“Yen!” Geralt yelps embarrassed when she slaps his behind after restoring his smallclothes to cover his very glorious witchery ass. 

“The witch’s and the bard’s whore,” Yennefer states, face schooled to a neutral expression but Jaskier notices the amused glimmer in her brilliant amethyst eyes. Jaskier wants to tell a joke concerning the recently acquired, quite permanent marks on their persons but doesn’t get the chance to do so because Yennefer speaks up again, “Now that this is settled, what is the last thing you remember boys?” 

“We were in Toussaint, as I said earlier,” Jaskier says, “attending a very boring party my cousin threw in his vacation home to celebrate, uh… something about a renovation? Reservation? Retrospection?” 

“Successful and bountiful harvest,” Geralt corrects.

“Those are all completely different things unrelated to harvest, Jaskier, but do continue,” Yennefer says rolling her eyes.

_ Hey, it’s not his fault he doesn’t remember!  _

“Right, anyhow it doesn’t matter,” Jaskier continues, “They served good wine and I might have had two or three goblets of it. I got insanely bored and they wouldn’t let me play a couple of songs, insisting the troubadour they hired was ‘brilliant’, which he was not, let me tell you. So, I figured I’ll have some fun.”

“Caught him releasing the creature from its restricted habitat,” Geralt says smugly.

“You mean I liberated poor Fluffy from his very uncomfortable golden cage, but yeah. Apparently the moment Geralt caught me so did my cousin’s guards, so I grabbed Geralt’s hand and started running. 

“And you hid in ‘The flower crown’ tavern,” Yennefer adds and he shoots her a quizzical look, “I met you both there, you dumbass. We had one, no, three? Bottles of wine together. I’m afraid I don’t remember much after this.”

“Me either,” Geralt says, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Jaskier feels the intense gaze of his friends as they expect him to continue with the story, “Yeah, no, no, that’s all I have. The rest is between booze and the gods.”

“Well,” Yennefer says petting the rabbit-deer-chicken hybrid like an evil overlord scheming world domination, “Only one thing left to do; leave the room and go on with our lives.”

_ How dull. _

“Aren’t you curious to find out what happened?” Jaskier questions the witch because he is very much interested in filling the gaps in his memory. He has the feeling it will be a great story and perhaps also song material. He’d be a fool to forgo such a chance. 

“I will brew a memory potion when that blasted headache subsides,” Yennefer answers truthfully, “Let’s go get something to eat, first. Shall we boys?” she gestures to the door.

-

Unsurprisingly, their room is the most expensive suite in Novigrad’s most luxurious and expensive inn. Jaskier recognises the intricate staircase and the fancy portraits decorating its adjacent walls. After all, as a Viscount, he’s been here before, though he did not spend the coin for the suite but a simpler room instead. 

He sure hopes the price will be reasonable, though he highly doubts it will. There go all his savings. He sighs audibly. 

He’s determined that this particular establishment was his drunken choice and he will not make his friends lose their savings because drunken him felt fancy. 

He expects a few raised eyebrows when they get to the lobby, some questioning looks, maybe a gasp or two -- he’s, after all, a very renowned bard. There isn’t a place among the northern shoreline where they don’t recognise his face. 

He does not expect the round of applause and cheers they get, or the crowd waiting for them in the inn’s extravagant lounge. The noise from the cheers sends needles stabbing his brain and he has to hold his head so he won’t keel over and make friends with the carpet. 

“Congratulations on your handfasting, master Jaskier, Lady Yennefer, sir Geralt!” Millie, the owner of the inn exclaims and another round of applause begins. 

_ Handfasting? _

Wait does that mean what he thinks it means?

All three stare at each other wide-eyed from shock not daring to speak a word. Finally, Yennefer mouths a silent ‘What.’ to which Jaskier responds with a shrug. Geralt remains still as a frozen pillar. 

“Ah, how lovely it must have been!” Millie continues, “Grand declarations of love and promises for care and affection! It was the sweetest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing about. And the grandiose feast! I have no words my lovelies, I have no words. I can only thank you for the barrels of Est Est.”

Jaskier, Yennefer and Geralt continue with their staring contest, which Jaskier breaks with a reluctant but truthful: “I don’t regret this drunken decision at all. I truly love you both so much my heart feels close to exploding every time I lay my eyes-”

“Wait a moment. Est Est?” Geralt interrupts rudely. At least Yennefer is kind enough to place a sympathetic hand on Jaskier’s shoulder instead of being a brute and interrupting his heartfelt love confession. “Barrels of Est Est. Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Geralt continues unphased.

“Did you remember something?” Yennefer raises a beautifully shaped dark brow. 

“We emptied Castel Ravello’s cellar,” Geralt says, his voice barely a whisper.

“We drank a castle’s worth of Est Est?” Jaskier whisper-shrieks, “No wonder my head hurts so much.”

“No you idiot! He means-,” Yennefer leans towards him conspiratorially and lowers the volume of her voice, “-we stole all the barrels of Est Est from Castel Ravello.”

"Oh, that's not good" Jaskier bites nervously at his lip.

Geralt nods. “We have to return it,” he says. "The barrels are at… some kind of cold and dreary castle, smells of snow and blood and really strong Vodka." 

"Kaer Morhen," say Yennefer and Jaskier in unison. 

"Um… is everything alright dears?" Millie asks, brow furrowed in concern. 

Oh right, yeah, right. That is not the place to have such conversations. Does not help at all when you have a dozen people staring at you, too. 

"Just a little misunderstanding,” Yennefer waves a hand dismissively and opens a portal with a gesture of the same hand tilting her head slightly to signal to pass through it. 

-

Portals are not fun, to say the least. If Jaskier’s stomach was doing somersaults before now it’s gleefully freefalling to the depths of a massive cliff. It’s inevitable, it really is. The contents of the poor stomach lay now sprawled across the stone floor and a set of big sturdy leather boots. 

“What the fuck bard?” Jaskier hears a familiar voice which his mind decides belongs to Lambert, “First you invite me to drink with you, then you lots empty my supply of White Gull leaving me stranded in Kaer fucking Morhen and now you retch all over my new shoes?”

“Oh dear,” Jaskier wipes his mouth with the silken handkerchief he always carries with him, “Sorry Lambs. Are the stolen barrels of very fancy and incredibly expensive wine here?”

“Gods help me, they are,” Vesemir chimes in exasperated from somewhere behind Jaskier. “Take them back will you? And bring Lambert back to Velen if you please. He hasn’t stopped cursing since he woke up this morning.”

“Something’s wrong,” Geralt mutters under his breath, “I’m forgetting something.”

“Besides the entirety of last night's tomfoolery that resulted in a three way marriage?” Yennefer smirks and places Fluffy on Vesemir’s arms, “here, a gift for you Ves,” she adds and opens a portal shoving Lambert through who yelps surprised before he disappears through it. 

“No seriously,” Geralt continues unphased while Vesemir is standing there petting the jackalope, watching them in disbelief and muttering the word ‘marriage’ again and again under his breath. Geralt grabs his head with both hands and groans out a disoriented ‘fuck’. 

They are forgetting something. Or rather someone. Jaskier is certain that at some point they were in the company of another of their friends besides Lambert. The image of a lean human in patched up peasant’s clothes flashes in his mind. 

“Where is Dudu?” Jaskier asks in a sudden moment of clarity, “Melitele's tits! We left him behind in Castel Ravello! They’ll flay him alive!” 

“No time to waste then,” says Yennefer in a monotone voice and opens yet another portal. She sighs and half steps through. “Ugh. The barrels. Bring them, will you,  _ husbands? _ ”

-

Half an hour later a dozen barrels bigger than Geralt are stacked neatly in piles and devoured by an amazingly huge portal the sorceress conjures. They step through, and when the portal-induced nausea subsides (it’s easier this time) they find themselves in a dark stone cellar, big and empty barrel shaped wooden racks forming rows. 

“Spit it out,  _ mutant _ ! Where is the wine?” a grovely voice thunders in the distance. And then the unmistakable sound of a spit landing in one’s face. 

They have to hurry. Who knows what they’ve already done to poor Dudu. Jaskier shoots a serious look at his… spouses, he supposes. Yennefer nods slightly, placing a finger before her luscious lips before pointing to a door in the other side of the big cellar. Geralt is still holding his head, presumably dizzy still from the constant teleportation and the hangover. 

That man never liked his portals, Jaskier smiles slightly amused. 

“Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong,” Geralt chants under his breath and both the witch and the bard share a quizzical and worried look amongst them. They both take one of Geralt’s hands on their own and walk towards the door. 

When they are close enough, Jaskier kicks the door of its hinges and enters the dimly lit impromptu holding cell and yells, “Unhand Dudu this instance you brute!” 

He expects to see the thin frame of the current favourite form of the doppler --an unassuming copper haired man who has the most dazzling smile-- but instead his gaze meets the very familiar silhouette of his most favourite Witcher. Bright amber eyes meet Jaskier’s cornflower blue and then they shift and look behind him. 

The captor and most probably employed security of the brewery keeps looking between the two Geralts as does Yennefer and he.

"Finally," gritts out the shackled Geralt. 

"Wrong wrong wrong," repeats the Geralt whose hand Yennefer's holding. "Not Geralt, not Geralt," he mumbles. 

"Oh look at that!" The guard says in a mocking tone, "Your friends came to save you, thief." 

"Spouses," shackled-Geralt corrects, which makes Jaskier's cheeks heat up, "- and a confused friend," the bound witcher adds, shooting a look of concern to the other Geralt, "Dudu, are you alright?" 

"Right. Right! I'm not Geralt. Not Geralt," the still witcher-shaped doppler shouts and immediately winces grabbing his head tighter.

"We've returned the barrels of wine," Yennefer interferes stepping in front of the trying-to-look-like-he-has-the-upper-hand-of-the-situation-but-ends-up-looking-confused guard, "and we'll pay for damages. Do let go of our husband, will you?" She turns to Geralt, "I assume you can fill in the blanks in our memories?" 

-

It's rather funny and entirely terrifying what alcohol does to you. Especially when consumed in such tremendous amounts. 

When they return to the inn in Toussaint that started this series of unfortunate events and when Dudu is back on his chosen form and feeling better after consuming the special medicine Yennefer brewed for him. Then, Geralt explains in detail what happened. 

Which, contains to say, a ridiculous amount of portal jumping across the continent. 

Well, to put it in fewer words, they got incredibly piss faced in Toussaint (Geralt suspects there was something wrong with the wine they got in the tavern), got married, portal jumped to Novigrad and found Dudu, portal jumped to Velen and enlisted Lambert and his special Vodka. They portaled once more to Toussaint and committed a grand wine heist. Got caught in the process and Dudu took Geralt's form to outrun the guards and somehow ended up being portaled without the real Geralt but with the barrels of wine to Kaer Morhen. 

After that, the details are still missing, but Jaskier assumes they left Lambert in the Wolves keep and went to Novigrad to continue with the party which led to the unfortunate acquisition of quite permanent yet entirely flattering marks on their bodies. 

Thankfully, neither Yennefer nor Geralt have yet addressed the most important thing that came out of this chaotic night; namely their drunken marriage. They seem comfortable enough to call one another husband and wife and while he absolutely loves being part of this a small voice in his head whispers to him that they don't mean  _ him _ . They dont include  _ him  _ in this affair. 

So, naturally he's entirely shocked by their reactions when he addresses the griffon in the room. 

“By the way,” he starts casually but the unease and nervousness he feels colour his voice, “I would totally understand if you would like to annul the marriage to me...”

“You’re an idiot, bard,” Yennefer laughs, “I can’t speak for Geralt but I’ve loved you for quite some time now. I certainly don’t mind being married to you. Even though you have a tendency to become insufferable from time to time,” she smiles softly and Jaskier’s heart gallops like a warhorse inside his chest cavity. 

He’s absolutely sure he’s beet red by now. 

“ _ Jask _ ,” Geralt says tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, a small smile forming on his lips. 

“ _ Geralt _ ,” Jaskier responds, mirroring the witcher. 

“You wound me,” the white-haired witcher places a hand on his chest dramatically, imitating the countless times Jaskier has pulled this exact move on him. He grins widely and Jaskier can’t resist planting a small kiss on the other man’s forehead.

“What? No kiss for me?” Yennefer fake-pouts and leans a breath away from the two men. Jaskier hugs them both, planting hundreds of tiny kisses on their crowns and smiles brightly. 

_ Maybe, they are going to be alright after all.  _


End file.
